THE BARB AND THE BRIDLE. 137 



"Hopefiil" was a sharp fellow enough, and he did not believe 

 that all was gold that glittered ; but he was under a very decided 

 impression that wherever there was a good open stretch of green 

 level turf it was safe to set a horse going." Alas! the luckless 

 young sportsman was not aware that in the New Forest this is by- 

 no means a certainty, and one day, when riding to some staghounds, 

 determined to "wipe the eye" of the field, he jumped a big place 

 which nobody else seemed to care for, and, taking his horse by the 

 iead, set him sailing along the nearest way to the hounds. A lovely 

 piece of emerald-green turf was before him ; he clapped his hat 

 firmly on, put down his hands, and, regardless of wild cries in his 

 rear, made the pace strong. Suddenly and awfully as the Master 

 of Ravens wood vanished from the sight of the distracted Caleb 

 Balderstone and was swallowed up in the Kelpie's Flow, so disap- 

 peared "Hopeful" and his proud steed; both were engulfed in a 

 treacherous bog, and, before either horse or man could be extricated, 

 " the pride of the Shires " was smothered in mud beneath his horse. 



Next season, at a "coffee-housing" by a spinney side, where 

 hounds were at work, an old friend of the bereft uncle ventured to 

 condole with him on his loss. 



" Sad business," he said, shaking his old hunting chum warmly 

 by the hand ; " sad business that about poor Charlie down in 

 Hampshire ! " 



" Sad, indeed," replied the veteran uncle, returning the friendly 

 squeeze. "Who would have thought my sister's son would have 

 ever done such a thing? Staghunting was bad enough," he con- 

 tinued, as the irrepressible tear coursed down his furrowed cheek ; 

 " staghunting was bad enough, but to go at it in Hampsliire — I 

 shall never get over it. As to his being smothered, of course that 

 served him perfectly right." 



Turning, however, from the above melancholy instance of degene- 

 racy in sport to the pleasanter theme of the right locale in which a 

 lady should commence foxhunting, I must not forget Leamington, 

 the neighbourhood of which beautiful and fashionable watering 

 place affords some capital sport to those who delight in " woodland 

 hunting." The woods at Princethorpe, Frankton, and the vicinity, 



